


All Hallows’ Eve

by neymovirne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Horcruxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neymovirne/pseuds/neymovirne
Summary: On All Hallows’ Eve, the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thin.





	All Hallows’ Eve

Harry closed the book in determination and stood up. The dorm was still empty as his yearmates didn’t want to wrap up Halloween celebration just yet. Harry himself skipped the feast claiming a headache, earning sympathetic glances from Ron and Hermione. Neither of them knew what he was going to do, or they would surely try to stop him. Harry loved his friends dearly but there were some things they just didn’t understand.

It was Ron of all people who mentioned the ritual offhandedly a month ago. It wasn’t even much of a ritual; a superstition, old wives’ tales, as Hermione had called it. Still, Harry couldn’t get it out of his head. He scoured the library under the pretence of verifying the Prince’s recipes and found an old volume tucked at the back of the bottom shelf between a book on flobberworms and an encyclopaedia of magical plants written in German. The book warned of many dangers waiting on the way of those determined to attempt it, but Harry was no stranger to peril and he was nothing if not determined.

Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and went down to the common room. Ginny and Dean were coming in through the portrait of the Fat Lady, hand in hand. Yesterday, Harry would have been jealous, but tonight was not the time for that. He slipped past them through the hole while the Fat Lady was scolding the newcomers for breaking the curfew.

The corridors were far from empty. Some Hufflepuffs were sneaking by, bottles of Firewiskey poking out of their robes, couples were snogging in the alcoves, and the Ravenclaws were setting the Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ fireworks from their tower. Harry paid them no mind. He went past the giant pumpkins in the Great Hall and outside, further, further, to the dark edges of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry took off his Cloak and set out on the path he first trod with Hagrid on that detention all those years ago when he had seen Voldemort in Quirrell’s body drinking unicorn’s blood. As if in response to his memories, Harry heard Fang howling piteously from the direction of Hagrid’s hut. Harry shook his head. He didn’t need to think about Quirrell or Voldemort right now.

The path veered and turned, far longer than Harry remembered it to be, leading him through the fog rapidly descending on the forest. The trees creaked menacingly, their branches casting long shadows in the pale light of the moon. Harry went past the bushes with weird luminescent flowers emanating sickly-sweet scent three times already, and he stumbled on what he was sure was the same log twice. He heard the howls that certainly weren’t Fang’s this time.

Harry didn’t let worry and niggling doubts break his concentration. He was thinking about his parents, about Sirius. He wouldn’t be able to see them, but he was hoping to talk to them, to hear their voices.

Finally, he came to the part of the forest that he was certain he hadn’t been to before. The trees looked identical to those he had passed already, but the path ahead was crossed by another one, barely traceable between the dead grass and gnarly roots.

Harry shivered as the fog seemed to grow even thicker. The shadows and faint whispers of the forest reminded him of the Veil Sirius fell through. Harry focused on Sirius’s face as he remembered him, handsome even after all those years in Azkaban hell, smiling at him proudly.

Suddenly, Harry was roused from his memories by a sound of crying. Startled, he realised that there was a baby wailing somewhere nearby. Frantically, he looked around; who would take a baby to the forest on a night like this?

To his horror, Harry saw a small shape under the roots of an ancient tree by the crossroads. He ran to it and recoiled in disgust: the baby was severely disfigured and misshapen, barely resembling a human child at all. Its head was too big for its body, and its bluish skin was sore and almost peeling off in some places.

Berating himself, because even the ugliest of creatures didn’t deserve to be left to die like that, Harry took the little body gingerly and started casting spells he could remember Tonks using on him after Malfoy had broken his nose. The baby relaxed a bit after Harry had alleviated the worst of injuries and put up the Warming Charm, but he realised he needed to get the boy - for it was indeed a boy - to Madam Pomfrey as soon as possible.

Harry took off his cloak and wrapped the baby in it. He would have to abandon his quest, but this was more important. Then the boy opened his eyes, and Harry almost dropped him in shock, meeting the crimson gaze. A horrible suspicion niggled at the back of his mind, but then the baby wailed again, and Harry resolutely turned around to return to the castle. Whatever or whoever it was, Dumbledore would make sense of it.

Suddenly, Harry felt rather than heard somebody’s presence behind him.

“Don’t look back,” said the voice he had only heard in his most horrible memory before. “Whatever you see or hear, don’t stop walking and don’t look back.”

Harry let out a shuddering breath, unable to say anything.

“My little boy. My brave little boy. Your father and I are so proud of you. And Sirius as well; he asked to tell you not to blame yourself. What happened in the Department of Mysteries was not your fault.”

Harry felt the lump in his throat and blinked rapidly. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and look in his mother’s eyes, so similar to his own. Instead, he kept going, staring at the top of the dark-haired head of the child in his arms.

“What is this baby? Did Voldemort send it?”

“Well, I guess you can look at it like that,” his mother said contemplatively. “In pursuit of immortality, he has torn his soul apart and stored parts of it in different objects called Horcruxes. That night fifteen years ago, when his own spell ricocheted on him, his mutilated soul broke further apart and a piece of it ended up in your scar.”

“I have a piece of Voldemort’s soul in my head?” Harry asked in horror.

“Right now, you have it in your hands,” Lily chuckled.

Harry looked at the baby. It looked much healthier already. The red eyes blinked, darkening to brown, and the child seemed to grow suddenly, limbs stretching, and turned into a very thin boy of around four.

“Does he remember being Voldemort?” Harry wondered. “The diary had the memories of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. It was another Horcrux, right?”

“Very good, Harry. But no, I don’t think he does. Its creation was accidental, and Voldemort didn’t perform the ritual needed to transfer his memories properly.”

A sudden thought made Harry grow cold. “Does Dumbledore know about my scar? He knows about Horcruxes, that’s why we are having those lessons with him…”

Lily huffed. “I believe he does. I don’t know what his plan is, but please take it with a grain of salt.” Her voice turned bitter. “He is a great wizard committed to the defeat of Voldemort, but he’s not without his own faults and prejudices, and he’s always had this need to control everything, do things his way, no matter what the cost. He’s not omniscient, as much as he and the world would like to believe otherwise.”

“What do I do, Mum?” Harry asked desperately, the enormous nature of his task only now dawning on him.

“You survive. You do what you have to do. You live your life and be happy. And never forget that you are not alone; we are always here with you and we love you very much.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

Harry felt the wind on his wet cheeks. The trees were becoming sparser, and he could see Hogwarts far away through the branches already.

“And tell Severus I forgive him.” Lily’s voice was growing more distant.

“‘s cold,” the boy murmured almost inaudibly, squirming. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck tighter and burrowed his head in Harry’s shoulder.

Harry was near the Hagrid’s hut already; the forest remained behind. With surprise, he saw the first tendrils of dawn creeping over the castle. His heart was heavy, but also somehow light, and he felt like he finally got rid of a headache he didn’t know he had. He could see Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape striding towards him, Ron and Hermione running at their heels.

Harry lifted his chin and hugged the boy closer.


End file.
